


let me rest (in peace)

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Roommates, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 19:20:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12539328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: Clarke doesn't believe in ghosts, but the idea that their apartment is haunted is stressing her roommate out. She just wants to help.





	let me rest (in peace)

"Clarke?"

"Mmph."

In the brief pause after she grunts in acknowledgment, she almost falls back to sleep. It feels like the middle of the night, her upper and lower lashes have fused together, and if her roommate hadn't (probably repeatedly) called her name, she'd be in the deepest depths of her sleep cycle right about now.

Instead of letting her return to her regularly scheduled unconsciousness, Bellamy asks, "Did you call my name?"

Clarke huffs, trying to process the question.

"Mmm-mn," she forces out at last.

Bellamy is silent for another beat, and then-- "Okay. Sorry to wake you up."

She doesn't come up with a response before he eases her door closed again with a soft click and darkness overtakes her once more.

Because Bellamy is a teacher who rises obscenely early in order to beat his students to his classroom, and Clarke wakes up at a normal human time, their paths don't often cross in the morning. It's not until after her second cup of coffee at work that she even remembers the incident.

 **Clarke:** Did you come into my room at like three a.m.?

 **Bellamy:** It was like four, but yeah.

 **Clarke:** W H Y

 **Bellamy:** I thought I heard my name. Excuse me for trying to make sure you weren't dying, Princess.

She snorts and sends him all the chicken emojis, which are at the front of her recently used because she sends them to him whenever he's being a mother hen. Whenever he sneaks fruit cups into her lunchbox, or throws a scarf at her if he thinks she isn't dressed warmly enough, or texts her reminders to drink water when she's out with Raven and Octavia (who, granted, get similar texts).

Having Bellamy for a roommate has worked out better than Clarke ever could have predicted. They get along about all the most important things, and when they butt heads on the small stuff, neither of them is the type to get passive-aggressive about it. They might get regular-aggressive, but it seems to work for them.

(Maybe a little too well.)

Which is why Clarke doesn't feel weird about teasing him when she gets home to find him buried in paperwork on the couch, "Hear any voices lately?"

"Shut up," he says without looking away. "Next time I'll just leave you to die all alone. You'll be all, 'Bellamy, help' and I'll be like, 'wouldn't want to wake her up if I'm wrong.' And then _boom_."

"Boom what?"

"Hmm?"

"What's the boom?"

"Oh." He does look up now, contemplating. His glasses are perched on the end of his nose and Clarke is ridiculously fond of him. "I don't know. Ceiling fan falls and decapitates you."

"And you'd just let it happen?" She slumps further into the chair, poking him with her foot. "That's cold."

"That's what you get for crying wolf."

"Or crying Bellamy, as it were."

"Exactly." He sets the papers down and rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I can't look at these anymore. They're all starting to blur together. You want to watch Netflix?"

"When do I ever say no to that?" She asks, and cues up _Stranger Things_ , which they're rewatching before the second season comes out. She rests her feet atop Bellamy's legs since hers don't quite reach the coffee table, and tries not to think about how this is basically her idea of a perfect night in.

At least, it is until she wakes again in the early hours of the morning to the sound of her door bursting open, Bellamy shaking her shoulders and calling her name, frantic.

"What is it?" She gasps, bolting upright. "Fire? Octavia? Emergency? What's going on?"

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Panic shadows his voice, lurks in his widened eyes. "Clarke, are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Bellamy, I'm fine." She grabs at his wrists, his hands still squeezing her shoulders with an iron grip. "What's happening right now?"

"I thought--" His breathing slows. "I heard you screaming, so--"

"I was screaming?" Clarke frowns. She doesn't _feel_ like she's been screaming. The raw feeling at the back of her throat, the one that comes when she's been yelling at idiots on Reddit, isn't there, nor is the sense that she'd been having a nightmare.

"Yeah, it was--" He shudders and pulls her into a hug. "I was terrified. I didn't know what was happening."

Clarke wraps her arms around his back, dragging her hands soothingly along his spine and pressing her face into the softness of his worn sleep shirt. The familiar scent of his soap fills her foggy brain and she knows if she stayed like this long enough, she's comfortable enough she'd fall back to sleep.

She makes herself let go.

"Bell-- I think maybe you're the one having nightmares. I had enough after my dad died, I know what I feel like when I've been having one. You probably heard someone scream in your dream, and it freaked you out enough you woke up and thought it was real."

"Maybe, but-- it sounded so real." His lips pull to one side. "I thought the ceiling fan was coming for you."

Clarke snorts softly. "Good to know you wouldn't really just let me die, though."

"Like you wouldn't do the same for me."

Without even having to think about it, she knows she would. If she woke up and heard Bellamy screaming, she'd be just as freaked, would react just as much.

"I don't know," she lies. "I'm much more level-headed than you are."

"Bullshit."

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She pokes him in the side. "Can I go back to sleep now? Or should I get used to this sort of wake-up call?"

He stands and leaves, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, "--better _hope_ I don't decide to start waking you up that way--" as he retreats to his room.

A faint smile twists at the edges of her lips as she flops back down onto her pillow, the phantom feeling of his arms wrapped around her lingering until she falls back to sleep.

Luckily, the next day is Saturday so she gets to balance out her interrupted sleep cycle with a couple extra hours. Bellamy is already back from the gym by the time she staggers out in search of coffee, scowling at the filtered water pitcher in the fridge.

"What did that thing ever do to you?"

"Huh?" He shakes his head and grabs it, letting the refrigerator door close at last. "Nothing. Did you fill this?"

"When have I ever," she deadpans, pointedly taking a sip of unfiltered, totally _fine_ tap water from her mug before she dumps the rest into the Keurig.

He rolls his eyes.

"I could have sworn this was empty yesterday."

"You probably filled it on autopilot."

"No, I remember because I was running late for school and thought-- I'll just fill it later."

"So you filled it later, but because it's out of your routine you forgot that you did it."

"I really can't remember filling it." He pauses. "And it's not just that. I keep finding my stuff not where I left it. Like, my toothbrush holder this morning was on the left side of the sink and I always keep it on the right. And my sneakers were at the back of my closet when I _know_ I set them out last night."

"We always knew you'd be the first of us to go senile," Clarke sighs, teasing. He glowers. "Either that, or you've got yourself a poltergeist."

"You joke, but between that shit and the screaming last night, I'm starting to think I really am being haunted," he says darkly.

A laugh escapes her before she can stop it, but Bellamy doesn't laugh along. In fact, he doesn't seem to be joking at all.

"Are you serious?" She asks, struggling to repress her humor. "You believe in ghosts?"

"I haven't ruled them out."

"Bellamy."

"Clarke." He mimics her tone, evidently not in the joking mood.

"You've got to be kidding. No, listen. You've been so stressed about school and stuff lately, you probably just haven't been paying total attention to what you're doing. There are no such things as ghosts."

"That's a surefire way to get haunted." He raises his eyes to the ceiling. "You guys heard that, right? She said that. Not me."

"You're an idiot."

"And you just made yourself a target," he teases, passing her the creamer as the Keurig's hissing signals that the coffee is almost ready. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

* * *

Clarke is practical, okay? She knows better than to jump straight to the supernatural to explain any evidence that doesn't seem to add up.

But over the next few days, she starts to see what Bellamy means. She'll find cabinets open that she knows they would have closed, or walk into a room she was just in and find that the lights have gone off. Before, she would have chalked it up to her own subconscious actions, but now... Well, now that Bellamy has planted the idea in her mind, it's always there. Prodding her, suggesting that maybe she does have another explanation, after all.

She wouldn't admit it to him in a million years, except that he's getting progressively more freaked out over the whole thing.

He's late to work one morning because his keys aren't on the hook where he keeps them, but when Clarke comes home for lunch she sees them hanging there in their spot. He doesn't wake her up in the middle of the night again, but she knows he's still hearing things-- floors creaking, footsteps, doors swinging open-- and the circles under his eyes are getting too dark for her to let it go on any longer.

Which is why he comes home one night to see her lighting candles, a ring of salt on the floor where their coffee table usually sits, and a ouija board on her lap.

"Uh..."

"Oh good, you're home." She flashes him a smile. "Will you grab a glass of water from the kitchen? I forgot."

"...Sure," he says slowly, trudging off with a confused expression still on his face. It's a testament to how much he trusts her, that he goes along with her weird plans before he even knows what they are.

"Great," she says when he reappears, taking the glass from him. "Okay, you sit there. According to wikiHow, we're supposed to be in a circle for this, but that doesn't really work with just two of us so this will have to do."

Despite still being mostly in the dark, Bellamy gives her a crooked smile and slips his shoes off, settling in cross-legged and facing her.

"What are we doing?"

"Holding a seance, obviously. It's time to put this whole ghost business to rest."

"You don't have to--"

"I know I don't. I'm over it too, though. And it's stressing you out, so what can it hurt?"

"But you don't even believe in this stuff." That tiny smile is still on his face and it makes her stupid heart lurch.

"No. But if there _is_ something haunting us, I want to know. Better safe than sorry."

He ducks his head, clearing his throat and trying to compose himself.

"Okay, so what do we do?"

They both place their fingers on the planchette and Clarke tries to tamp down on the jitters in her stomach with his hands so close to hers. It's ridiculous. It's _Bellamy_. They touch each other all the time.

She wets her lips. "Um, I guess we ask questions and wait for an answer. If they can't speak through the board, the water is supposed to indicate that they're here? Somehow? I don't really get it. But I think we start with yes or no questions. Those are supposed to be easiest."

"Aren't they always." He clears his throat again. "Alright, then. Go ahead."

"Me?" She demands. "Why am I the one who has to start? You're the one who thinks we have a ghost."

"This was your idea!"

"You're a better speaker than I am."

He rolls his eyes, unable to stop his smile. " _Fine_. I'll start."

There's a pause.

"Waiting."

"Shut up." He swallows. "Uh... Ghosts?"

Clarke collapses into laughter, her fingers almost sliding the planchette on their own because she's so overcome by the ridiculousness of everything that's happening.

"That's how you're starting this? Uh, ghosts?"

He looks disgruntled but she can tell he wants to laugh, too.

"If you're going to make fun of me, I'm making you start," he says, nudging her fingertips with his as she rights herself and catches her breath.

"Okay, okay." She gives her head a shake and bites the inside of her lip. "I'm ready. Go ahead."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Fine." He huffs. "Alright, then. Are there any spirits in this apartment right now?"

She holds her breath, trying not to chuckle again as they wait for a response.

Nothing.

"Maybe if you asked it in Latin," she teases after a while, breaking the long silence. He laughs too this time.

"What, you think there are centuries-old dead Romans somehow haunting us?"

"It is you we're talking about. I wouldn't discount that theory so quickly."

"Okay, before we try this again I'm getting a couple of beers."

"Yeah, good call. Can't believe I didn't think of it myself."

It's an odd night, to be sure, but there's something nice about sitting with Bellamy on the floor in flickering candlelight, drinking and laughing and trying to get the ghost to talk back to them even though they've long since shifted the ouija board to the side. They spread out gradually, until they're laying side-by-side and giggling up at the ceiling as they get tipsier.

"I think if we have a ghost, they're probably judging us pretty hard right now," she says at last. Bellamy turns his head to her, a grin stretched across his face.

"Maybe we've got one of those socially anxious ghosts. Like, they're waiting for us to figure out ghost texting because they don't like talking on the inter-dimensional phone."

"I don't blame them."

"No, me neither."

They smile at each other for a beat, Clarke trying to read the look in his eyes as he watches her.

"Sorry we didn't make contact," she says at last.

He shrugs. "It was a nice night anyway. I laughed more than I have in a while. I think I really needed it."

"We should hold seances more often."

His lips twitch and he turns his head to look straight ahead. "Yeah, that must be it."

She doesn't mean to fall asleep like that, but it's hard when she's got a little bit of alcohol in her system, when she's happy and warm next to Bellamy. A crick in her neck and an ache in her back wake her in the early morning hours, and she sits up long enough to check that the candles have all gone out before she turns over to curl more comfortably into Bellamy's side.

"What time is it?" He mumbles, turning to face her. A heavy weight drapes across her side and she belatedly realizes it's his arm.

"Early I think."

"Are we still on the floor?"

"Yeah." She yawns. "We should move to a bed."

"I don't know." His fingers begin untangling the knots in her hair, combing through it gently. "This is the first night I haven't woken up from adrenaline. I'm not too thrilled about the concept of going back to my room."

"Do we need to get you a nightlight?"

He pinches her neck and she makes a noise, pressing closer to him.

"That was a serious question."

"Oh." His thumb rubs her neck apologetically and she shivers. "I don't think it's the dark that gets me."

"Earplugs, maybe."

He hums.

"This is helping too," he says, soft.

"Not being alone?"

"Yeah," he says after a beat. "Someone else to assure me I'm not losing my mind."

"Then it's settled." With great effort, she heaves herself off of him, holding out a hand to help him up. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"I don't want either of us to get back problems. We're too young for that. So you're going to come sleep in my bed."

He blinks, automatically accepting her hand. She finds him much closer than she expected when he stands. "Why your bed?"

"Bellamy, it's like two in the morning. You really want to argue with me about this right now?"

"No, but--"

"We can go to your bed if it's such a big deal."

"I keep my room cleaner," he admits at last. Clarke makes a face and pushes at his shoulders to get him moving.

" _Fine_. Your room, then."

When they get there, he still looks a little unsure but Clarke is sleep-drunk enough that she pushes right past that, climbing under his covers and wiggling over until she hits the wall. After much internal debate, he joins her, keeping a good foot of space between them. It doesn't take long for Clarke to huff in frustration and tuck herself against him again.

"See?" She grumbles as sleep tugs at her once more. "Isn't this better?"

The last thing she feels before disappearing completely into the dark is Bellamy pulling the covers further over them.

* * *

When she wakes the next morning, Bellamy isn't in his bed.

She hears him moving about in the tv room, undoubtedly cleaning up the mess of salt and candle wax they'd left behind, and hauls herself up to help him. It was her idea, after all.

"Why are we awake?" She protests, grabbing empty bottles to take to the recycling. As if he hadn't heard her approach, he jumps when she speaks, tossing a guilty look over his shoulder.

"My body wakes up at five thirty no matter what," he admits, voice rough with sleep. "Go back to bed."

Clarke frowns and walks up behind him, burying her bleary eyes between his shoulder blades and hugging him around his middle. He freezes.

"You should come with me." Her voice is muffled by his shirt but she thinks he can understand. "I bet you could fall asleep again. And no offense, but you look like you could use it."

He pats her hand twice, awkward, before disentangling himself.

"I don't know," he hedges.

"What don't you know?"

"You don't think it's weird?" He runs a hand through his hair. "I feel like now that it's morning and we're not under the influence, it might be weird."

"It's not weird for me, but I can go back to my own bed if you want yours back." She pauses. "Did it really help? Having someone there with you?"

"Yeah. Well, sort of." He drops his eyes. "I don't know if it would have helped having _someone_. But it helped, having _you_ there. So. I get if it's weird for you now, but-- yeah."

"Oh."

She processes this for a moment, then steps forward to slip her arms around his waist. It doesn't take much to lean up and kiss him, keeping it quick and firmly closed-lipped since she hasn't brushed her teeth yet. When she pulls back, he looks a little dumbstruck and she hides her smile in his neck.

"Was _that_ weird?"

His hands tighten on her hips, enough to push her back so he can kiss her again. He keeps it short and sweet, but the press of his lips is firmer. Reassuring her that he wants this as much as he does. She feels like she could float, she's that light inside.

"It was perfect," he says, nosing at the top of her head. She smiles, knowing he's trying to play it cool but too familiar with his tells to fall for it.

"Good." She draws away from him and grabs his hand, towing him with her as she goes. "Then coming back to bed with me won't be weird either."

"No," he grins. "That sounds pretty perfect too."

"One way to find out."

* * *

"Clarke."

She kicks Bellamy under the covers in lieu of a response to his whisper, fighting a smile when he huffs and drags her closer.

"Babe."

" _What_?"

"I think our ghost is gone."

Brain muddled with sleep, she really has to work at it to understand what he's saying, but when she thinks about it she realizes she hasn't felt a random draft, found an object in the wrong place, or heard a spooky noise in several weeks. She still thinks it was probably Bellamy over-stressing himself and confirmation bias at play, but whatever it was, it stopped.

"What, you think the seance worked?" She asks, groggy. "Like... they just wanted some attention, and now that they got it they've moved on?"

"Maybe." His fingers dance along her spine. "Or maybe whatever their unfinished business was, they got it done."

It takes her a minute. "You think we had a matchmaking poltergeist."

Feeling the rumble of his laughter in his chest is one of her new favorite things. She presses herself closer to it.

"It worked, didn't it?"

"I can't believe you woke me up for this. You're lucky I love you."

He's quiet for long enough she remembers it's the first time she said it. Pressing her lips to her favorite spot on his jaw, she sighs.

"I promise I'll say it again in the morning. Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Yeah." He's smiling, she can hear it in that single syllable. The dork. "I'll hold you to it."

"I'm sure you will."

Her breathing slows, falling into rhythm with his hand rubbing her back, and she thinks maybe he's on to something with the whole not-sleeping-alone thing. Maybe she sleeps better next to him, too.


End file.
